


The Truth is Painful (I Wish I Didn't Know It)

by Tyler_KB



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dissociative Amnesia, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, No Dialogue, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories, Sad, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 11:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21427141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyler_KB/pseuds/Tyler_KB
Summary: Memories have a way to come back, no matter how repressed they were, they will always make themselves known in the end.*Please read the tags, very heavy on angst with no happiness or comfort*
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	The Truth is Painful (I Wish I Didn't Know It)

I’ve always had gaps in my memory.

Any memories I had were vivid, too vivid, and any memories I didn’t have felt like they aren’t there to begin with, like they never existed, like there was never a time I was that age.

I’ve always wondered if something happened that I don’t remember, that my mind purposely blocked out.

Everything was too extreme.

I’d had trauma, emotional abuse from childhood does that to a person, but everything was too extreme, I had fears that didn’t make sense.

Nothing made sense, I blocked the one thing I knew would make everything clearer.

I told myself if it was true that I would be fine, I wouldn’t think less of myself, I could still love my body and mind and so many promises that everything would be _okay_.

It is easier to say that than to actually do it.

Driving was something I enjoyed, listening to music alone, able to voice my thoughts aloud without fears of who heard me because no one could.

Emotional flashbacks were common, I’d had panic attacks before.

The sudden, overwhelming feelings of people touching me, holding me down, _restraining me_, was not something I’d ever experienced, and the moment I felt a hand on collarbone, _pining me down and holding me there I can’t move I can’t breathe someone **please**_, I knew my worst fear was coming true.

The panic was blinding, I felt arms wrap around waist and chest, restricting my breathing as invisible hands touched different parts of my legs and ran down my back as a pair of hands held my upper arms down to a surface I couldn’t feel.

The worst was the phantom feeling of being violated.

I felt it, it wouldn’t stop, the hands wouldn’t go away.

A vision of a ceiling flashed in my mind, the feeling of my head partially hanging off a bed, the existing a little to the left feeling that comes with dissociation hiding in between the overwhelming panic that took over my mind and became the only emotion I knew.

I couldn’t stop shaking, panic branded in my mind as I felt hands _touching me, pining me, restraining me_.

I needed to tell someone, but who would have cared?

No one.

Hidden, like the memories that are now surfacing from deep within my mind used to me.

The days went on, life when on.

My parents forgot about my panic and vigilance, Rhodey forgot what I tried to tell him before remembering that no one would care, that just because it mattered to me doesn’t mean other people would actually care.

Everyone forgot.

Everyone but me.

The hands followed me, the violating feeling, the ceiling, my silence, the fact I was just_ frozen._

_Why didn’t I fight?_

_Why didn’t I do anything?_

_Why did I let it happen?_

_Why why why why why WHY**?**_  
  
Showering became hard; I avoided mirrors, couldn’t look at myself, my body, it just brought a sense of fear, regret, (disgust). 

I kept my legs closed, the violation only got worse when they weren’t.

I couldn’t touch my chest, my legs, my arms, my neck; the feeling only came back, my hands morphed to become another’s, and the ceiling came back in flashes of a memory once buried.

I can’t hear a man’s voice, any form of sudden noise, without the panic striking down my spine and the need to _go, run, get away, danger, danger, DANGER._

Touch becomes fire, burning my skin with a poison that makes me flinch away anytime someone gets too close.

I’m touch starved, but the burn makes the longing feel mild in comparison to the pain.

People became threats, the world became more dangerous than I originally believed, more than I originally feared.

I’d always known something was missing, I never wanted the only thing that made sense to be true.

But that fear has made itself known.

The hands that follow, the violation that never goes away, the ceiling, _the truth_.

My hands bawl in fists as my mind smirks down at me, whispering to me in a voice that sounds so alike to mine yet so different at the same time; anger mixing with the panic as I try to ignore the tears running down my face, knowing this is a battle I am facing alone.

The truth is often painful, and memories always find a way to make themselves known in the end.


End file.
